


Lost in Delaware

by sporkmetender



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Boss/Employee Relationship, Established Relationship, F/F, Outdoor Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-07 21:59:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1915359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sporkmetender/pseuds/sporkmetender
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the crowning misery on top of Andy's already miserable day. She and Miranda are now lost in a state park somewhere in Delaware and running late for an important meeting in D.C. And Miranda, who has been a bitch on wheels all day, is about to find out what happens when her lover-slash-assistant's supply of patience finally runs out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost in Delaware

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to gizmospur for the germ of the idea for this fic, to grdnofevrythng for the beta, and to flitterbug18 and mirandyscrow for their contributions. This story was originally posted on Livejournal in April of 2009.

It was entirely typical of her life, Andy couldn’t help thinking, that she was lost somewhere in rural Delaware, driving a manual transmission for the first time in years (in heels!) and being sniped at by her boss. Who was also her lover, _although you’d never know it from the way she’s been acting today. God._

 

Miranda had been in one of her moods even before they left New York. Andy secretly suspected that a fear of flying might be the underlying cause, but she knew it was more than her life was worth to speculate, especially while Miranda was in full-on Ice Queen mode. And, naturally, the snarling and glaring got much, much worse when some sort of bizarre air traffic control issue had landed them in Philadelphia instead of D.C. Andy knew, just from the sight of all the stationary jets (some with visibly disgruntled passengers disembarking), that they were most likely grounded for a while, but she made calls dutifully to everyone in the area who might conceivably be prepared to fly them out.

 

When even the National Guard was unable to help— _Thanks for nothing, Dad—_ Andy was forced to give up. She decided she might as well make it a quick, clean death. Better to just get it over with, right? She took a deep breath. “Miranda?” Miranda continued to stare out the window, Starbucks in hand, but Andy could tell by the set of Miranda’s shoulders that the slight quaver in her voice had registered. She took another deep breath and cleared her throat. “Miranda, I’ve called everyone. A runaway vehicle of some kind managed to take out an essential network or interface or something. Nothing is flying in or out for another six hours, at least. Apparently they’re shipping a part from a warehouse in Ohio.”

 

Miranda turned, slowly, and stared at her as if she were the lowliest worm on the planet. Andy’s knees had a strong urge to buckle, but she stood firm. _It’s not your fault, Sachs. It’s not the end of the world, and it’s not your fault. Just do your job, and everything will be fine. Eventually. Maybe._

 

“I, uh, I took the liberty of renting a car. It should be here in twenty minutes, tops.”

 

Miranda’s glare became, if possible, even icier. “A car. You rented a _car_ , when you know we need to be at a dinner meeting in Washington in two hours?”

 

Andy swallowed. “Miranda, I called everybody I could think of, including the National Guard. _Nothing_ is flying out. Either we can drive to Harrisburg and try to fly from there, or we can drive straight to D.C. from here, but either way it’s going to take at least two and a half hours, and either way we’ll have to drive. Which would you rather do?”

 

Miranda sniffed disapprovingly and turned to face the window again. “Since you’ve already _taken the liberty_ , I suppose we may as well drive the whole way. I expect you to have procured reliable directions by the time this vehicle arrives. And don’t bother with the main highway—we both know it will be jammed with traffic at this hour.”

 

Andy groaned silently and made her way to the most friendly-looking of the harassed, over-worked agents at the information desk. Ten minutes later, she came away with a very involved set of directions and a hand-drawn map that looked a little bit like a camel (if you squinted just right), but the woman had sworn they would be able to bypass most of the rush-hour traffic, so Andy spent the next few minutes memorizing the first eleven lines of the directions, since she was sure Miranda would not be inclined to assume navigational duties.

 

The rental car that showed up was a complete surprise to both of them—a pleasant one, for once. Andy knew she must look ridiculous with her mouth hanging open like that, but seriously? An _Aston Martin_? As a _rental_? She’d called the most luxurious-sounding rental place she could find, and they’d said they would send the nicest car they had—Miranda’s name really did open a lot of doors—but still. Wow. Even Miranda was trying not to look impressed.

 

The driver who climbed out of this astonishing vehicle was wearing an expression that was that curious mix of terror and joy Andy had long grown accustomed to seeing on the faces of those meeting Miranda for the first time. He placed the keys in Andy’s hand with only slightly unsteady fingers, and his hesitant smile fell quickly as he took in Miranda’s cool stare and obvious impatience.

 

“You’ve got a full tank of gas, ma’am, and I put a map of the area in the glove compartment. You, uh, said you know how to drive a 6-speed, right?” He looked Andy up and down with a distinct air of doubt, lingering for a moment on her tight skirt and four-inch heels.

 

Andy rolled her eyes at him and motioned at the gawking skycap to put their luggage in the trunk. “I have three older brothers, and we grew up ten minutes from the local drag strip. They haven’t made a car yet that I couldn’t drive, 6-speed or not.”

 

Surprisingly, Miranda had gotten into the passenger side without waiting for anyone to open the door, so Andy tipped the skycap and brushed past the rental agent towards the driver’s seat. “We’ll be fine,” she assured him.

 

An hour and a half later, she wasn’t quite so confident. Not because she had trouble with the transmission—it shifted like butter, actually. The driving part was sheer joy. The problem was that Miranda had been bitching non-stop for the entire trip and Andy was rapidly nearing the breaking point.

 

She knew they were in Delaware. That was definite. What she didn’t know was what _part_ of Delaware they were in. It wasn’t a huge state, granted, but it was still plenty big enough to get lost in, and Miranda’s constant griping about everything from the incompetence of her staff (including Andy) to the merely hot Starbucks (instead of properly scalding) that Andy had gotten her was NOT helping. In vain, Andy attempted to draw her attention to the beauty of the surrounding countryside, the majesty of the pink and purple-streaked clouds on the horizon, the quaint houses occasionally visible in the distance. Miranda refused to be appeased or distracted.

 

In addition to complaining a great deal, Miranda had misread the directions after Andy’s memory gave out, and then failed to admit her inability to read Andy’s handwriting. She had also complicated matters by refusing to stop and ask for directions or even (god forbid) take a look at the map the poor man at the rental agency had _put in the glove box less than three feet from her fucking face_. Not that Andy was bitter.

 

When they drove past a sign announcing them to be in a _State Park_ , Andy decided it was time to pull over, because if she didn’t, she was going to say something that would pretty much guarantee the loss of her job—lovers or not. It might also be a good idea to figure out where the hell they were.

 

There was a nice, deserted scenic overlook about a mile past the park entrance. Andy pulled in.

 

“Miranda,” she said, as calmly as she could manage, “could you hand me the directions and the map in the glove box please?”

 

Miranda handed them over with an uncharacteristically obvious eye-roll and a dramatic sigh.

 

The eye-rolling and the sighs continued while Andy attempted to piece together a new route to D.C., accompanied by increasingly impatient foot-tapping and the occasional deliberate rustle of expensive fabric.

 

“Look how beautiful it is out here,” Andy said, for perhaps the fifth time in an hour. “If we have to miss the dinner meeting, at least we get to watch a spectacular sunset, right?”

 

Miranda grunted impatiently, just as she had the last four times, and tapped her fingers on the center console.

 

Miranda hated not being in control. Andy knew this, and she’d been trying to soothe the woman’s obviously frazzled nerves all day, but Miranda just refused to be soothed. Finally, Andy gave up and devoted all her attention to the map, mumbling to herself as her fingers traced the tiny lines that were supposed to have taken them to D.C.

 

“Please do continue to move at a glacial pace, Andrea. I’ve always wanted to spend the night in a rental car in the wilds of Delaware.”

 

Andy’s head jerked up in shock and mounting rage. _No. Oh no. She did NOT just say that._ Andy turned, with slow, icy precision, and made eye contact just long enough for Miranda to see every profanity (and there were a lot of them) making its way through her brain. She then re-folded the map and placed it, very deliberately, in Miranda’s unresponsive hands. “All yours,” she said, between fiercely clenched teeth, and got out of the car.

 

She shut the car door with something just short of a slam and stalked several feet forward, breathing deeply and studiously ignoring the feel of Miranda’s eyes on her back.

 

 _Deep breaths, Andy,_ she reminded herself. _This is your boss. You’ve worked for her for well over a year, now. You’re her first assistant. You didn’t fight your way into that position and into her bed just to throw it all away now. You're crazy about her. And she cares about you, even if she won’t say the words. You know she does._ And she did know that. She did. It was just really, really hard to focus on that right now.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Miranda spent several moments staring disbelieving holes in Andy’s back, but since the stupid girl was refusing to turn around, it proved less effective than usual. She actually considered dialing Andrea’s cell phone for a moment, but discarded the idea when she saw, with considerable disgust, that there was no signal.

 

By Miranda’s reckoning, Andy had now been standing there—just standing, not doing anything—for over two minutes. The sun was almost setting, and surely it was beginning to get cold out—it was mid September, after all, and Andrea wasn’t wearing her suit jacket. What was she thinking, standing out there like that, where anything could happen to her? Especially when she was supposed to be getting Miranda to a meeting in D.C., for which she was already quite late, and for which there would most certainly be hell to pay.

 

First things first, she decided, fishing out the three-week-old bifocals that, in spite of their invisible lines and stylish frames, made Miranda feel just a little bit self-conscious every time she put them on. Time to look at the map. It was ridiculously easy to plan out a route, now that she could see what she was doing. By the time they actually got that far, the worst of rush-hour would be over. Better to just get on the highway. She marked the route carefully with her ever-present red pen.

 

To Miranda’s considerable surprise (and annoyance), Andrea was still standing in the exact same spot when she looked up again. Her hair—she really did have glorious hair, especially when she finally started using the right sort of products on it—was blown away from her face by a gentle breeze, and she practically glowed with youth and vitality in the light of the setting sun.

 

Miranda shook off her brief moment of sentimentality with an irritable twitch of her head and climbed resolutely out of the car. This wasn’t a time to be thinking about hair and eyes (or asses in Calvin Klein skirts). It was time to turn on the charm and get her lovely but annoying assistant back in the driver’s seat before they missed the damn dinner entirely.

 

Miranda picked her way carefully across the rather ancient gravel lot to where Andrea was admiring the sunset, muttering dire imprecations about irreplaceable $900 shoes the whole way. Most of her wardrobe consisted of free samples, of course, but these shoes were special. One of a kind. They’d been commissioned especially for her, and they were gorgeous—forest green, with thick 4 ½-inch gold heels, and she would be damned if she was going to ruin them on gravel in some god-forsaken park in the middle of fucking Delaware. Delaware! Damn those stupid bifocals, anyway.

 

Andrea had to have heard her shoes on the gravel, if not her whispered curses, but she made no move as Miranda came to stand beside her. Definitely still angry, then. She could handle that. She’d just have to make use of a phrase she didn’t say very often. Or ever.

 

“You were right,” she said quietly, with a quick glance at Andy’s face. “The air does taste better out here. And it really is a lovely sunset.”

 

Andy nodded, but did not speak. Miranda noticed that her hands were clasped together very tightly, and she’d lost the serenity Miranda had admired a few seconds earlier.

 

“Did you notice that white farmhouse a few miles back? With the wraparound porch and the swing and all the dormer windows?”

 

“Yes,” Andy said, reluctantly.

 

“That house was designed by an architect,” Miranda said. “Did you see how beautifully the wing blended with the main house? And how perfectly the green shutters matched the pine trees in the yard? That sort of thing doesn’t happen by accident.”

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Andy suppressed, with great effort, the urge to yell at Miranda that Andy had pointed that farmhouse out at least half an hour earlier, and if Miranda wanted to talk about architects, then she should have fucking done it _then_. She would _not_ encourage Miranda by looking at her or being drawn into conversation. If Miranda was in the mood to be conciliatory, for once, then Andy was going to let her be conciliatory for a good long time.

 

She was surprisingly good at it, actually. It never failed to amaze Andy how many things Miranda noticed and never commented on. And how entertaining she could be when she tried. Against her will, she found herself softening under a steady murmur of admiration for their surroundings and the things she’d commented on herself during their ride—when Miranda had given every appearance of not paying attention. _Damn. She always surprises me._

 

She was standing with her arms folded and her hip sticking out defiantly, looking righteously pissed-off, but inside, Andy was melting. Damn Miranda’s special extra-quiet bedroom voice. Andy would have found it seductive even if she’d been reading a car manual, but it was almost irresistible when she was describing the sunset with words like “sublime” and “violet”—Andy’s favorite color, as Miranda knew quite well. It was just so damn unfair that Miranda had a weapon like that in her arsenal when Andy had nothing even close to equivalent. Especially since Miranda knew exactly how Andy felt about her bedroom voice.

 

Andy risked a quick glance at Miranda’s face—and made eye contact. _Damn._ That was it. Once she looked into Miranda’s eyes, she was lost. Miranda obviously knew it, too, because she stopped talking and reached one cool, perfectly manicured hand up to comb through Andy’s slightly wind-swept hair. Before Andy could speak, Miranda had wrapped her fingers in the long, silky strands and was using them as leverage—as if the smallest touch weren’t more than enough—to pull Andy into an utterly unexpected, utterly amazing kiss. _She just kissed me,_ Andy thought, numbly, as she reached out automatically to wrap her arms around Miranda. _We’re kissing on the clock. We never do that._

 

And then she stopped thinking altogether, because Miranda’s tongue was doing something truly wonderful, and all of Andy’s pent-up anger and frustration were suddenly transmuted into a surge of lust so intense she had to pull her mouth away for a moment and gasp for air.

 

Right when Andy felt she had almost caught her breath, Miranda kissed her again, biting and nibbling and sucking until Andy knew her lips had to be incredibly red and swollen. Only when Andy’s lips were completely incapable of pursing did Miranda finally pull back a short distance to examine her handiwork.

 

Andy had pretty much given up on trying to figure Miranda out, these days. It was the task of a lifetime, or possibly several, and Andy sincerely doubted that Miranda was interested in keeping her around long enough for her to have a prayer of accomplishing it. She would learn to not ask questions and be content with what she could get. Right now, with Miranda staring hungrily at her mouth and her own body throbbing in response, she was completely okay with settling for what she could get. As long as she got it sometime very, very soon. And it was starting to look like she was going to.

 

“Feeling better?” Miranda asked.

 

Andy nodded, still a little dazed from the serious make-out session. She felt _great_.

 

Miranda stepped back abruptly and let go of Andy’s hair. “Fantastic,” she said, in what was clearly _not_ the bedroom voice. “We need to get back on the road as soon as possible, or I don’t think I’ll be able to spin our absence from the meeting. I don’t know why you insisted on dragging us all the way out here to admire the sunset, but we are on the clock right now, and I don’t think I need to tell you that your behavior today has been seriously unprofessional.”

 

Andy gaped wordlessly for a beat or two, and then all her previous rage and frustration came roaring back hotter than ever, and it was just too much to keep inside. She grabbed the lapels of Miranda’s jacket and forced her back towards the car.

 

“Unprofessional?” she hissed, eyes flashing. “You want to talk to me about _unprofessional_ , Miranda Priestly?”

 

The bumper hit the backs of Miranda’s knees, but Andy kept pushing until Miranda’s back was flat on the gleaming black hood.

 

“Tell me, then, Miranda. If _I_ am the unprofessional one, then why did you spend well over an hour griping at me about a whole shitload of things that are not my fault? Why didn’t you tell me that you couldn’t read my handwriting _before_ we got stuck in a State Park in the middle of fucking Delaware? Why didn’t you let me stop and ask for directions so we could get back on track? Why didn’t _you_ get the map out of the goddamn glove box and try to figure out where the hell we were?”

 

Miranda was glaring fiercely and squirming in Andy’s grip, but Andy had gravity and a whole lot of righteous anger on her side, and she was not letting go until she’d had her say. She let Miranda raise her shoulders a few inches off the surface of the car and quickly jerked Miranda’s jacket down to a few inches below shoulder level—effectively pinning her arms. Miranda began to look vaguely alarmed.

 

“Andrea,” she started. “We don’t have time for this…”

 

Which was as far as she got before Andy slammed her back down on the car hard enough to force the air out of her lungs and jammed their mouths together in a bruising kiss.

 

“I’ll tell you what we don’t have time for,” Andy said, when she came up for air a minute or so later. “We don’t have time for any more of your unprofessional _bullshit_ , Miranda. You expect two minutes of making out to make up for a solid day of misery? Not even an ‘I’m sorry’?”

 

Andy reached for the hem of Miranda’s skirt and quickly yanked it up to waist level. Miranda was definitely looking alarmed now, but she was also not squirming anymore.

 

“I mean, I would have known you didn’t _mean_ it,” Andy continued, admiring Miranda’s stunning black garter belt as she held Miranda down with one hand on her chest. “God knows you never apologize, and I knew I was being manipulated as soon as you said I was right about something, but still. A little _professional_ courtesy would be nice every now and then.”

 

“My behavior was completely professional,” Miranda said, and then she inhaled sharply as Andy casually ripped her $200 underwear right off and tossed it over her shoulder. “Those are expensive!” she said, in outraged tones. “I’ll have you know that pair of underwear cost over…”

 

“Two hundred dollars, yes, I know,” Andy broke in, as she ripped the front of Miranda’s blouse open, scattering buttons in every direction. “I work at _Runway_ too, you know. It’s not like you actually paid for them or anything.”

 

Miranda’s answering sneer was rather ruined by her loud gasp when Andy roughly shoved her ($350) bra up over her breasts and pinched her left nipple so hard she had to bite her lip to keep from screaming.

 

Andrea’s eyes were now swirling with a potent combination of power, lust and rage, and Miranda found it oddly appealing. She supposed she might as well enjoy it, since Andrea was clearly not going to let her up until she’d gotten her pound of flesh. So to speak. And she was already wet. Achingly so, mostly from watching the girl handle a powerful 6-speed transmission like a pro. Who knew?

 

“What if I had paid for them?” she asked out loud, subtly contorting her shoulders in an effort to regain control of her arms.

 

“You’re good for it,” Andy mumbled, distracted by the sight of Miranda’s unreasonably gorgeous legs encased in real, honest-to-goodness stockings, complete with seams down the back (arrow-straight, of course).

 

Miranda huffed. “That’s not the point. I thought you were the one concerned about professionalism?” She squirmed a little more obviously—her left arm was almost free.

 

Andy growled and twisted her nipple. “Put your legs on my shoulders and for god’s sake shut up about fucking professionalism already.”

 

“I’ll slide off the car!” Miranda protested, putting her legs on Andrea’s shoulders anyway. She even forgot to squirm for a few seconds as she watched Andrea’s pupils dilate even further at the sight before her: Miranda Priestly spread out on the hood of a car with her stockinged legs in the air, heels still on, and her clothes adjusted for easy access.

 

“I’m stronger than I look,” Andy said, and proceeded to jam three fingers inside Miranda’s cunt in a single vicious thrust.

 

Miranda wailed before she could stop herself.

 

Andy just grinned and fucked her harder. “You know,” she said, after a few minutes of watching Miranda bite her lip to avoid moaning, “you’re surprisingly wet for a woman who’s so desperate to get on the road.” She held up her glistening hand as proof—not that Miranda needed it—and licked her fingers as provocatively as she could.

 

Miranda was still glaring, but she also refrained from telling Andy to stop, which—from Miranda—was as good as begging from anyone else.

 

“Not going to ask me to stop, then?” Andy said, sliding all three fingers back in and beginning a deep, leisurely stroke with a twist at the end. “Not going to tell me how _important_ this meeting is, how much _trouble_ I’m going to be in for making us so late?” Andy curled her fingers up on the word “trouble” and pressed firmly on Miranda’s G-spot, finally eliciting the low growl that never failed to thrill her.

 

Miranda had had enough. “Trouble does not even begin to describe your situation, Andrea, if you do not shut up and fuck me _right now._ ”

 

Andy grinned unrepentantly and sank to her knees. “I thought you’d never ask,” she said, as she pulled Miranda’s legs further apart and drew in a deep breath. Miranda smelled divine. Andy felt a little bit intoxicated, in fact, as she leaned forward and felt the full impact of Miranda’s scent. “You smell so good,” she mumbled, in between nibbles at the crease of Miranda’s thigh.

 

“Of course I do,” Miranda panted. She sounded offended, but Andy just rolled her eyes and delivered a punishing bite to Miranda’s inner thigh. _That’s going to leave a mark,_ she thought, with a certain amount of guilty glee. _I can’t wait to watch her discover it the first time she tries to walk._

 

Miranda had taken the opportunity to shrug her jacket back up to its normal position and propped herself up on her elbows, presumably to watch Andy going down on her. Sometimes Andy suspected that Miranda visualized herself having sex with Andy as a _Runway_ photo shoot. It didn’t bother Andy nearly as much as she thought it probably should. It was kind of hot, actually. _Back to the matter at hand, though, Sachs,_ she admonished herself. _You’d better fuck her brains out, because she’ll never forgive you for this if you don’t._

 

Andy finally tired of teasing Miranda and went for the clit. Miranda bucked and threw out her arms for balance, carving an eight-inch gash in the car’s paint with her Cartier bracelet as she did so. “The paint,” she gasped, pushing half-heartedly at Andy’s head. “Do you have any idea how expensive this car is?”

 

Andy lifted her head long enough to give Miranda a scathing look. “Like you couldn’t buy five of them tomorrow if you wanted. Now for god’s sake, shut up and let me fuck you.” She pulled Miranda a little closer to the front bumper, wrapped her lips around Miranda’s clit, and sucked for all she was worth.

 

Miranda shut up.

 

Actually, strictly speaking, Miranda didn’t so much shut up as stop making sense. She said quite a lot, but it was mostly names of various deities, interspersed with “Andrea!” and a lot of four-letter words.

 

Andy would have smirked when she felt Miranda’s thighs clamp her head like a vise and heard the somewhat muffled “Fuck!” that heralded Miranda’s orgasm, but her mouth was otherwise occupied at the time.

 

She switched to a steady, gentle licking as Miranda came down from her rather spectacular orgasm. Andy had tissues in her purse, of course, like the stellar assistant she was, but this method of cleanup was infinitely preferable.

 

She reluctantly shuffled backwards when Miranda started to sit up. Andy rose to her feet, wincing as the gravel-induced dimples in her knees made themselves known, and reached automatically for her purse. It was in the car, she remembered, and she turned to fetch it—incidentally leaving Miranda to put herself back together without an audience.

 

By the time Andy felt her makeup had been sufficiently restored, Miranda had opened her suitcase, found a different top, fixed her own makeup, and somehow restored her hair and jacket to something approaching their normal perfection.

 

Miranda handed her the new directions without a word, and Andy knew better than to ask why, if Miranda was such a good navigator, she hadn’t put her skills to use _before_ they ended up in a Delaware State Park. She just put the car in gear and headed for the park exit.

 

“So,” Andy said, with exaggerated innocence, after a few minutes of relatively comfortable silence. “Feeling better?”

 

Miranda attempted one of her standard Ice Queen glares, but it was clear her heart wasn’t in it.

 

Andy grinned all the way to D.C.

**Author's Note:**

> In case anyone is wondering, [here](http://www.seriouswheels.com/pics-2007/2007-Aston-Martin-Vanquish-S-Black-Front-1280x960.jpg) is the car I was picturing as I wrote this.


End file.
